I write because I don’t say a lot, but I have a lot to say. I write, because someone out there, lost his/her voice, and will know, that they are not all alone. I write, because no matter how still I may appear, there is a fluttering deep down — reverberating — sending waves through my body to my fingertips. I write, because when I write, I defy time, gravity, thieves, lawlessness .. and the chains of insecurity. I write, because when I write, I travel to the very cracks I’ve slipped through, and there, I am found.

Landon’s Story: A mother speaks

Into the mind of Brynn

He was always such a beautiful boy.

So soft, so sweet, so gentle, so — perfect. He graduated high school at sixteen, he’s studying engineering, a surprisingly talented running back and more manners than — than — even the old gentlemen from the romantic black and white movies.

All that potential, yet I can see him slowly destroying himself. But …

The way he looks at me …

It’d take me far too long to explain it — or describe — the way he looks at me. It makes me want to run and hide, yet it’s only a look, disguised by a smile. He doesn’t care that I want the best for him… Truthfully, when I think of the part I play in who he is and where he’s going, if I’m being honest, I can admit I failed him. I’m selfish and life is hell for me, just like it has to be hell for him.

Sometimes I think about other mothers …

Other mothers talk about where they see themselves and their children in ten years … I can’t help but think to Landon: My son’s not living.

I mean, no one can live like that. My son is not living. And this girl he’s wrapped up with — I don’t know. I just don’t know. But who am I to help him when — how can I help him when behind the smiles, he blames me? Sometimes I wish he’d just admit it. But he’s a robot. And I hate it.

I hate that robot exterior ..

“It” feels nothing and allows him to smile at everything. Fixes everyone else without healing his own wounds. The robot’s going to either kill my son or get him put away for a very long time — I think soon he’s going to explode. I just wonder …

I wonder if there’s there hope for him …

I’d like to think that. I hope for that. But I’m a realist. I have a bad feeling.